Hurricane Punch  Alternate Ending
by angorianwolf
Summary: What if Serge A. Storms had gotten shot by Jeff during that hurricane season?  What's more, what will Mahoney do?  Just an alternate ending book project I did this fall on Tim Dorsey's Hurricane Punch.


**Disclaimer:I do not own Serge, Mahoney, or Coleman. These characters are copyright © Tim Dorsey. In addition, all Italics are direct quotes from the book, the beginning set being a part of the original scene.**

A/N:This was written as a book project for my English Class earlier this school year. It could be so much better, and the characters much less OOC, but I still think I did fairly well, apart from my over-usage of the word mind. (If anyone has a suggestion as to how I could change it to fix that problem I'd love to hear.) Anyway, please review!  
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The rising water reached Serge's shins in a riptide. He pleaded with Jeff but it was hard communicating in the deafening collision of storms. Lightning crashed, mini-twisters spun across the flooding ridge, birds drowned, frogs could fly. Drama on a biblical level._

_Jeff reached the end of his tether. He stiffened his arm and cocked the pistol. A finger began pulling the trigger.  
"Nooooooooooo!" Serge jumped in front of Mahoney._

The pistol shot cracked through the air, somehow louder than the chaos around them. Smoke billowed around the barrel of the gun for little more than a millisecond before being whisked away into the storm. Time slowed down, Serge's cry morphing into a scream of pain, his body crumpling into the rising water. Mahoney's world began to unravel.

_"You're a cop!"_

_ "Nothing personal."_

_"All we need is one little opportunity. A single moment when they're distracted. Then this is what we do..."_

_"Everyone has the wrong idea, I don't __**want**__ to do what I do. I need a very good reason. Unfortunately, people in this state keep providing them. __**But I am not a serial killer!"**_

_ "He blames me for everything, especially the stuff I've done."  
_

Click.  
Mahoney's mind came back into focus, the gun pointed at him taking on sharp clarity. Serge moaned softly. The sheeting rain bit at Mahoney. Serge snapped at him in his head.  
"Don't just stand there!"

Another cry, this one shocked, rang through the air. A giant parrot crashed into Jeff, both of them starting to get pulled away by the tide. Mahoney lunged for the sodden feathers of the parrot, dragging Coleman with him to relative safety.

Red. It glittered sharply in the water like a curse, curling like smoke through the tumultuous water. Mahoney didn't think, couldn't think. As he pulled Serge into his arms, lifting him out of the water all he could feel was the faltering beat of Serge's heart, his voice echoing in his head.

_"But I don't want you to shoot Mahoney."_

**THE NEXT MORNING, WINTER HAVEN HOSPITAL.**

Mahoney paced feverishly throughout the hospital, mind whirring. He wasn't supposed to catch Serge like this. They had a code, and he owed would have been impossible to get Serge the medical attention he needed and keep him off of the authorities' radar at the same time though.

**Three hours earlier.**

In the aftermath of the hurricanes chaos reigned. People swarmed trucks delivering relief packages, the usual pandemonium. 'Exclusive' footage of the two hurricanes' eyes meeting in the middle of the state flooded TV stations. Serge went into intensive care. Coleman sat dejectedly in the waiting room, looking scared and helpless. State authorities were notified about the dangerous convict's hospitalization. A green line darted erratically across a monitor, little beeps emanating from it.

A doctor walked up to a man in a rumpled fedora. Pages flipped on a clipboard.

"You're a friend of the victim correct?" asked the doctor, looking up seriously.

"You could say that," Mahoney said vaguely. "What's his condition?"

"He seems stable, but if he doesn't wake up soon we suspect he'll slip into a coma," the doctor said seriously.

**Present.  
**Mahoney sat silently next to Serge's hospital bed, head in his hands. His mind was a whirlwind, images of Serge flashing through his mind. The smile that always caught him off guard was clearly visible in his mind's eye, holding none of the malice he always expected. A chill went through him as the ghost of a gun pressed against his temple, a fragment of a memory that shattered when he focused on it.

He kneaded his forehead. The unnerving beep of Serge's heart monitor filled the room. The sound was the only thing tethering Mahoney to reality right now. Their lives felt inexplicably intertwined. That was what really scared Mahoney. For years now Serge had been taking over his life.

The case had been his obsession; was his obsession. It was an obsession that had gone too far. Suppressed memories of his time at the asylum floated across his mind. Serge's mind had been a strange place, a place with which Mahoney had become all too familiar.

As it happened, at the moment Serge's mind was a very different place than either of its occupants had ever experienced. Heavy blackness enveloped Serge's consciousness, the peace unsettling to Serge's hyperactive personality. 'Where the hell am I?' thought Serge, struggling against the soothing surroundings. The lack of memories was far too familiar for comfort. All he needed was something, anything, to latch onto.

A voice echoed through the blackness, sounding as though it was traveling through water. Serge would have recognized it anywhere. Memories flooded his mind. He clung to Mahoney's every word, slowly but surely dragging himself from the blackness.

**3 Months Later**

Serge stood silently, smiling as butterflies fluttered all around him. He ticked through different species as he saw them. "Dolpha Evelina, Cassius Blue, Hypolimnas Bolina, Myscelia Ethusa..." Coleman stared wide eyed at the fluttering creatures from just outside the enclosure.

"Serge.." he whispered reverently, "It's so trippy. Look at all the different flickering colors darting about you!" Serge rolled his eyes.  
"Their called butterflies Coleman," Serge said.

A crease formed between Coleman's eyebrows. "Are you sure I'm not high?"

"With you I never know," responded Serge, casting a sideways look at his friend.

"Serge... Why'd we come here again?" Coleman asked as they walked back to their car. Serge's eyes lit up with excitement and disbelief.

"You're kidding right?" Serge said in a stunned voice. "It's Butterfly World!" exclaimed Serge. "This was the first Butterfly House to be created in America! It all started with Ronald Boender. He had a passion for butterflies, started breeding them and owning them long before he established this attraction. However, butterfly houses in Europe caught his atten..." Serge trailed off from his energetic rant, eyes focusing on something ahead of them.

A man pushed a girl, probably no older than fourteen, against the brick wall of a shadowed alley. Serge's face darkened, hands clenching into fists.

"Uh-oh..." muttered Coleman. He knew that look.

"Coleman," said Serge tersely, "Wait in the car." He pulled a gun from his belt, striding quickly across the parking lot.  


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